Like many of my more epic dreams, this one began in fairly mundane fashion. I was back at my old San Jose office, and was looking out my window and having coffee, watching it rain. Our QA manager came in and was talking to me about an upcoming ISO audit, and was followed by our HR guy talking about a celebrity he had driven around in a limo (his weekend/evening gig), and then our AP clerk Gabby, who was trying to voucher stuff and having problems. Ho hum.
I noticed that in a rather large departure from my normal attire, I had on my black boots, and one of my black silk "poets" shirts, usually worn only at RenFaire or clubs. Hmm. Obviously, it was time for some mischief. I puttered about the office for a while, then made some absurd excuse and left. It had stopped raining but was very overcast outside.
From here on I began a series of small adventures and encounters. The first involved tracking someone who had done something reprehensible (and who I had actually worked with, a real sleaze named Bruce Bartley). My task was to verify he was the culprit, and inflict a suitable punishment. This began the weird; because what I did was use a bit of ritual magic, and make his "three times three" both literal and immediate. He had been treating a subordinate badly. On his drive to Los Angeles, he got stopped three times by police who treated him the same way. He rolled through a red light, and then narrowly missed getting hit three times. Each crappy little thing he did came back on him within minutes. I really liked that one.
A few similar types of events then, with total strangers. Then it was time to do some of my own karmic cleansing, and make a full-on effort to find a former girlfriend, Marge Balla. My little Romany lover had dropped out of touch almost twenty years ago; it was time to find her again and see if she was OK. To my great surprise, it turned out to be almost absurdly simple; some internet searching, contacting some people she had gone to high school with, and paying a PI to get her social security number from a former employer. Plus a bit more magic.
Step two didn't go quite as smoothly; actually talking to her was frustrating, to say the least. She was willing enough to talk briefly on the phone. A face to face didn't go as well; she was polite for about three minutes. Then the facade fell away. She blamed me for never staying in touch (not completely invalid) and for crushing her self-esteem by not keeping in touch with her, not being around when she needed me, which then escalated to never really loving her in the first place. "uhh wait, what? I ...." Hell hath no fury like a woman. She stormed off , and subsequent attempts to reach her were ignored. Fine then.
Not being one to give up easily, and hating to admit defeat.... I cheated. Off to see her mom, who had always liked me more than any of Marge's boyfriends. Easy enough to find mom; she was still living in the former home. This was now a three story San Francisco Victorian, rather than the actual Palo Alto Eikler. Crowded in amongst many similar, the "new" home had a gorgeous stained wood panel exterior rather than paint. The inside was like a cross between "Antiques Roadshow" and movie set for a Gypsie camp. Her mom was in full blown Romany clothing, something she never wore. Marge's room was draped and had an altar at one end (very Wiccan) and the rest of the house had fetishes and lace and candles galore. As I was exploring, listening to her mom lecture me about how I never should have let Marge get away, the atmosphere changed.
One minute it was dimly lit and atmospheric; the next it was dark and ominous. Something was approaching, and not from the Northwest. This was descending like a shroud over the whole block. Her mom instantly began a chant and warned me to take cover or run. As I moved quickly down the stairs, a spirit began to form almost directly ahead. A quick ward deflected it away from me, leaving it lost and confused; but I wasn't going to be able to that again and again. As I reached the room where her mom was sitting, telling a rosary and muttering a spell at the same time, I saw one quick option that might work. Some shawls and lace work that belonged to a grandmother were draped over a sofa. Like a kid hiding under the blankets, I wrapped the shawl around my head and shoulders and then literally dove under the lace work, pulling in even my feet. I could feel the heavy presence of something searching, and it so intense as to be nearly visible, like a purple searchlight sweeping the room.
After an interminable ten or twenty seconds it just vanished, like a circuit had been cut. The spells from Marge's mom perhaps, or whatever had sent it ending the summoning, or else it had simply given up, for now. Her mom insisted it wasn't the type of working Marge would ever do, or even could do; it was time for me to go talk to her again however, no matter how angry or unwilling she was. Her mother had me take one of the small lace objects, a black doylie, as a bit of deflection magic. Summoning both my rather frayed courage and a handy ward, I slipped off again into the night.
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